The Janitor
by BoomChick
Summary: What sort of security guard hangs out in abandoned buildings carrying clothes three times his size? What sort of person would lend a complete stranger who fell out of the sky as a monster not only clothing, but a motorcycle? This is the story of the man who gave The Hulk some pants.


I never got a big, fancy, superhero name. They reserve those for the big guys. The ones who run around blowing things up. I'm more the sort of fella who cleans up the little messes. If I get noticed at all, the most folks ever call me is 'The Janitor.' I'm alright with that. It's accurate enough.

I only got one superpower, and that's knowing what's needed. Not in big world-peace ways. If that was th' case I'd be all over the news, and not takin' every odd job that comes my way and don't mind that I've got bad knees. No, it's not the big stuff that I get ideas about. I don't give pushes—just little nudges now and then.

It was all pretty dull when I was younger. Putting the things my mom had lost where she could find 'em, makin' sure the kid in the hallway bumped into me instead of the guy next to him who'da beaten him into a pulp—simple things. Little things. Making the world just a smidge better than it could have been.

Wasn't until I was a teenager that I realized I could do more—do better. Lookin' back at the things I did in those days, I'm surprised I lived through it. It was a damned stupid time in my life. Full of getting myself into trouble and thinkin' that bein' in danger was what made me a hero. Those were the days when I thought that what made me special made me invincible too. But I guess everyone feels that way when they're young.

I guess I oughta explain how this power thing of mine works. I'm not exactly bein' clear with things like 'I know what's needed.' It's a hard thing to explain, though. It ain't the straightforward kinda power you hear about on the news. I'm no super soldier or weird God-fellow. I just get feelings and choose whether I ought ta follow what I'm feelin' or not. When I get the feeling that I really oughta go for a walk and stall a young lady on the way to work for just a couple minutes, I do it.

It's usually not until later that I find out what good it did. If it did any at all. Sometimes I see folks on TV that I ran into. Folks who almost got smushed by falling buildings, or nearly got on a train that crashed. One time I stalled this football player just long enough for him to be there when a house caught fire. The video of him catchin' a baby that a lady threw out a window to him was all over the computers, I hear. I try not to think about all the impulses I get that I can't follow. No man can do everything.

Still. Sometimes when a man gets the urge to leave halfway through his low-key security job and drive out into the middle of nowhere on an old motorcycle, carrying an extra set of clothes three sizes to big for himself...Well, it's worth it to make the trip for curiosity's sake alone.

Now the news has started calling the big fella I helped out "The Hulk." Most folks don't know he shrinks down to the size of a normal fella when he's done smushing aliens. I guess in a way I'm pretty honored I got to see that. It was good to know—or remember I guess—that all the other special people out there are the same as me in at least one way. They're all people too. Weird ones, sure, but everybody's weird.

So when I started to get a similar feeling while the whole terrorist mess was going on, I went with it. Joined the clean-up crew after some big explosion at a ritzy house. Hell on my back, but I didn't have to stay long. Just long enough to shift that fella's helmet. What's his name, metal man? Something like that. It just needed a little nudge from under a pile of rocks to where the pretty young lady who'd been standing around lookin' shocked all day could find it.

Watching her put it on—watching her cry with relief...Well, it's not often I get to see the results of what I did so swiftly.

I'm no Avenger. I'm not interested in bein' one either. Those fellas are ten kinds of crazy, and always in the wrong place.

But you know what? Everyone needs a janitor. I'm okay with being theirs.


End file.
